


The View From Here

by Crimson_Ink



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Deaf Character, Doctors & Physicians, Hospitals, Past Character Death, Physical Disability, Trans Character, Wheelchairs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 01:26:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10934118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson_Ink/pseuds/Crimson_Ink
Summary: After an accidental shooting, Alexander Hamilton finds himself paralyzed, facing life in a wheelchair. Fortunately, he has his friends there to rally for him. It's a tough situation and tensions are flaring, but Alex finds support in unlikely places.It won't be easy, but life goes on.





	1. Almost (I Didn't Mean It)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so this is Chapter 1 of my first ever fic. Feedback would be very much appreciated, as I really have no idea what I'm doing. Enjoy!

“Aaron! What’s up?” John said in his usual perky tone.

“It was an accident.” An empty voice greeted him.

“What? Nah, I don’t think there was an accident. I’m headed home now and traffic is it’s usual self. Slow but normal.”

His thumbs were still tapping the steering wheel to the beat of his music. Aaron never called unless he needed to. He was more of a texter, much to John’s dismay. He was glad one of his many lectures about road safety had made it through to Aaron.

“I didn’t mean to. I really didn’t, it just happened.” Aaron’s shaky, distant voice seemed even more ominous by the static created by John’s bluetooth.

“What do you mean? What didn’t you mean? If it’s another disagreement with Alex, just call him, Aaron. He doesn’t like when I meddle between you two.”

“John I’m so sorry.”

“Please, you think Alex doesn’t also say things he regrets in the heat of the moment? I’ll be home in 20 minutes, I’ll tell him to call you.” John said, taking a moment to flip off the Kia that cut him off.

“He thought it was cool. He was interested in my field, I just- John I just wanted to show it to him. I didn’t know, John. I didn’t mean it.”

Aaron was near tears. He wasn’t sure, but John thought he could hear somebody yelling in the noisy background. John turned his music off.

“Aaron what’s going on? Where are you?” The panic that John spent years trying to control was unearthing itself. “Is Alex with you?”

“It just went off. He wanted to see how it was loaded. John you have to get here.”

He had never heard Aaron like this. The cool, stoic Aaron, crying over his car speakers.

“Aaron, I need you to tell me where you are.” John said. He pulled over, sitting on the shoulder of the highway. He could feel his heart rate increasing. The silence on the other end of the line wasn’t helping.

“Aaron! Get it together! Where the hell are you?”

“I’m so sorry.” A woman’s voice cut him off. Is that John? Give me the phone.

“John, it’s Angelica. I’m coming to pick you up from work. Alex is in the hospital, I’ll explain more on the way.”

“Don’t pick me up, I’m on my way there. It’s the next exit.” John said with urgency to rival Angelica’s.

He knew it wasn’t another fight or virus. If it were, Angelica would be angry at Alex’s recklessness, not scared. Aaron wouldn’t be there at all, because Alex would’ve called John himself. He would’ve explained that it was just a broken arm, or just a flu, and that John didn’t even need to meet him in the ER. They would’ve fought about Alex’s need to slow down, while John flirted with the female nurses, saying “it’s not inappropriate if you’re gay and need an IV done right.”

They had their ER routine down to a science, but this was different. This was Aaron Burr, of all people, too upset for rational thought. This was Angelica trying to hide the fear in her voice. This was John, praying to every god he could think of as he did 90mph on the shoulder of a highway during New York rush hour.

******

When he arrived, John was greeted with utter mayhem. Doctors and nurses and cops and mother’s wearing their children’s blood ran around in swarms to the sound of cardiac alarms and cries. Behind each muted green curtain, a different tragedy was triaged. John stood there, frozen. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t think. He didn’t know what to do. The sound of suffering slowly faded to ringing in his ears.

“Sir? Sir. Excuse me, you with the ponytail.” Reality called. He unfroze, walking to the voice behind the stacks of charts. It belonged to a young woman, no older than 20. She sat behind the semi-circle desk in the middle of the room. Her pink scrubs were wrinkled and her eyeliner was smeared, but her demeanor screamed efficiency. She seemed hardened with experience, but her eyes were soft. Too soft for this job.

“Uh, yeah?” John stammered out.

“Are you looking for somebody?” She said, patient and stern.

“Alex. Hamilton. Alexander Hamilton, he’s uh… he’s short. And he’s type B. Blood, I mean. He’s the biggest type A personality you’ll ever meet. But not blood. That’s type B. Positive, I think. He should be in the system. There should be a, a… bald guy and a scary girl already here for him. Want happened? Nobody told me why he’s here, but I know it’s bad.“

John managed to sputter all this out in record speed while the nurse typed his name. She looked up at John, cutting off his panicked rant.

“And your name?”

“Um, Laurens. John Laurens.”

“Are you family?”

John knew how this worked. Only family was aloud in trauma centers. His mind flashed back to high school- sitting in the waiting room of a dingy country hospital as a “friend,” while his first ever love lay dying of alcohol poising. He thought of all the times he was Alex’s “friend” in the ER, because friends are aloud in emergency rooms. But only family is aloud in trauma centers.

“I’m his… cousin?”

The nurse looked at him with a half cocked eyebrow and gave a sly smile.

“Can you just tell me what’s wrong with him? I need to see him.”

“You ain’t his cousin,” she said.

“Excuse me, but my cousin is here and nobody will tell me why! It’s incredibly unprofessional and if you can please just-“ anger didn’t suit John, but it had it’s place.

“Honey, that’s a nice pin you got.” She said, pointing to the rainbow triangle on his jacket. She rummaged through her stack of papers while John stood, ready to kill somebody. Why was this girl so calm? He couldn’t be relegated to the waiting room. Not again.

“Look, Miss…” he leaned over to see her name tag “Maria. You are being extremely difficult. I need to see Alex and you need to to tell me what’s wrong with him and-“

She handed John a small plastic bag. The word “BIOHAZARD” written across the top.

“Took this off your cousin’s jacket when we triaged him. I tried to give it to the french one, but he said to wait for you. Thought you’d want it.”

“Laf is here? And he didn’t call me?” John said quietly, holding an identical pin in his hands, Alex’s blood covering the rainbow.

“Follow me.”

Maria got up and beckoned for John to follow her. He did, a few feet behind, reeling with the shock, still unsure what happened to Alex.

“You know,” she said, using her keycard to open a wide wooden door that lead down an endless hallway, “You may be fooling all your yankee friends, but not me. That’s a nice accent you’re trying to hide there. I’m gonna say… Louisiana?” She didn’t turn around to even look at John while they walked, not that he would have noticed anyway.

“How’d you-?”

“This ain’t your small town. You don’t have to be cousins here.” They were stopped outside of another door, face to face again. The extra wide hallways made John feel small.

“You’re family. Actually, you’re the medical proxy, so you don’t even have to be family.” Maria said, touching his shoulder. He wondered when Alex had made him proxy. This was the first he heard of it.

“John, Alex received a gun shot wound to the mid abdomen.”

“No, I’m sorry but you must be mistaken, he’s a professor, he’s an anti-gun advocate, there’s no way.”

“I’m sorry, but he was shot.”

“By who? Did they arrest them? What happened? Who the fuck shot my Alex!?”

“All I know is that is was an accident. The cops are en route, but only because it’s protocol with gun shot wounds.”

“Oh dear lord, oh my god he’s going to die.” John was verging on hysterics, about to faint.

“Hey, no he’s not. He’s been in surgery less than an hour. We’ll keep you updated. It’s dire, but he’ll pull through. EMT’s said he was ranting about Oscar Wilde so passionately they could barely treat him.”

John let out a sharp exhale, the best laugh he could muster. “Sounds like him.”

“Listen, all we know right now is that the ball went straight through his liver and lodged in his spine. Liver’s bleed, that’s what they do, but they also heal themselves. You have to understand though, there is suspected spinal cord damage.”

“How bad?”

“We won’t know until he wakes up and the swelling goes down.”

“What about Angelica and Aaron? Where are they? Does he know they’re here.”

“They’re right through the door. They both rode in the ambulance with him.”

“Yeah, yeah, sounds right. The work together, you know. At Columbia.”

“Your friends…” She looked at the chart. “Elizabeth, Margarita, Gilbert, and Hercules are also here.”

“Who?” John wasn’t able to put it together in the moment.

“Um, Elizabeth and Margarita came together, Gilbert and Hercules said they were family friends? Those were the names on their ID’s?”

“What?”

“Uh, Elizabeth brought cookies? Gilbert didn’t have an American ID? Angelica hugged them all when she saw them?”

“Oh! Right. Sorry.” John said, now aware of the extent of his dissociation.

“No worries. I’ll be here all night. Try to relax. There’s a Starbucks downstairs if you aren’t a fan of stale coffee, but judging by the tremor in you hand I’d say you don’t need any. Don’t expect him to be out of surgery for at least another 7 or 8 hours. It’s perfectly normal for surgeries like this to take that long when there are so many fragments from the ball.”

“The ball?”

“Your friends didn’t tell you?” Maria retorted.

“Tell me what?” John said, his anger mingled with another uproar of sheer terror.

“Oh. I’ve never seen anything like it. Alex was shot with a… a musket ball. From a gun from like… the early 19th century. The cops have it. All I know is that is that your friend Aaron gave it to them on the scene and that we had to give him a Valium here, poor guy was so distraught.”

John stood there, bewildered. Unsure of what to say.

“Thank you, Maria. You’ve been a huge help.” John said, opening the door to the waiting room. Maria nodded and started to walk away.

“Oh, and John?”

“Yeah?”

“He was asking for a Rachel. None of your friends seemed to recognize the name. We tried to track her down, but to no avail. If you know her, you should give her a call. It could be a morphine delusion, but Alex seemed pretty adamant about wanting her here.” She said, disappearing into florescent lights and sickness. John’s heart sank. He knew exactly who she was. He sat in the car every Mother’s day, watching Alex put Forget-Me-Nots on her grave, swearing to Alex he wouldn’t tell a soul about it.

******

“John,” Angelica said, wrapping her arms around him. Her pink blouse was no longer tucked into her pencil skirt. Both were cover in dried blood. She could feel John shaking in her arms as the rest of the group stood up to greet him.

“Angelica, hi.” he said with a sniffle.

“Come on, love. Sit down.” She lead him over to worn out couch and guided him down. Eliza sat next to him, holding three coffee’s in one hand.

“He’s going to be fine, John. I promise. You know Alex. He’s a fighter.” She said. Lafayette got up and grabbed a two of Eliza’s coffee’s, handing one to Herc.

“You don’t know that. None of you know that.” John said through tears.

“The doctors know that. You have to have faith.” Eliza said.

Eliza, Peggy, and Angelica were sisters. Angelica was Alex’s boss at Columbia. She ran the entire English Literature department with an iron fist. She had gotten her first Ph.D at the age of 21, and nobody was convinced it was really her first. Over the years, she and Alex had become friends. He would come home and complain about how Angelica didn’t let him do this, or she made him do that, and John would listen and laugh, because he knew they were both so incredibly themselves. The oldest one of all the friends, Angelica held them together. Eliza and Peggy ran a bakery down the street, but they spent their weekends helping their sister, who worked 24/7. Eliza had published a children’s book using her sister’s connections, and Angelica couldn’t be prouder. John and Alex always thought they must secretly be millionaires, always buying dinner for their friends, having unrealistically nice apartments and wardrobes, but they never brought it up, and all three worked hard for what they had.

Peggy, deaf from birth, communicated mostly with ASL. Angelica and Alex were fluent, John, Eliza, Hercules, and Lafayette tried their best. As much as Alex admired Angelica and loved Eliza, he and Peggy had something that nobody could really put their finger on. They took care of each other.

Laf taught art history at Columbia and Herc ran a fashion business. Before John started dating Alex, the three of them roomed together. Lafayette married Hercules a year prior in a field of lavenders in Nice.

And then there was Burr. The man who introduced Alex to Columbia. The soft spoken outsider who nobody could ever get a read on. The enigma. The man who married a woman none of them had ever met. Aaron Burr, who sat shaking more violently than John in the corner of the room, covered head to toe in blood.

“Aaron.” John made his way over, kneeling in front of him.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Aaron, you were the first to call me. Your office is next to Alex’s. I need you to tell me what happened.”

“We got it from the Smithsonian. The whole history department was so proud of me for getting it on loan. And Alexander was fascinated. He just wanted to see how it worked. I found him, in my room, playing with it.”

“Aaron?”

“They used it in the American Revolution. I wonder how many British soldiers it killed…”

“What the fuck did you do, you piece of shit!”

“Mon ami, calm. It wasn’t his fault.” Lafayette interjected, placing himself between John and Aaron.

“Shut up you bastard! He shot him, Laf! He fucking shot Alexander! And nobody even had the decency to tell me. I was the last one here.” John screamed. He looked back at Burr. “Alex always hated you. He always knew you were trouble.”

Nobody had ever seen John like this. The gentle, loving, John, about to crack.

“It was my fault. It was. Alex wanted to see how it was loaded. I shouldn’t have actually showed him. I shouldn’t have put the gun powder in. I’m so sorry, Laurens. You have every right to hate me.”

“You’re goddamn right I do.”

The dingy waiting room fell silent. Eliza looked down. Hercules pulled Lafayette away. Peggy played with the hem of her yellow sundress. Burr sat still. John panted with rage. Angelica got up, slowly made her way to him, and slapped him as hard as she could. Everybody gasped.

“The gun was older than this country. A mistake was made. It went off. It happens. It’s tragic, and it’s unfair, but it’s not Aaron’s fault. In fact, he saved Alex’s life. I was the first one in the room and he was already on the ground putting pressure on the wound, elbow deep in blood to hold arteries closed with his bare hands. Alex would’ve bled out if Aaron hadn’t acted so quickly.”

John was dumbfounded, his face stinging. Burr sat behind him, silent.

“Ha. Great. So he’s been inside my boyfriend.” Laf chuckled lightly. John started sobbing. Angelica gave Eliza a knowing head nod, and Eliza immediately got up and walked Burr gently out of the room without another word.

“Let’s get you some fresh clothes and some water, okay?” She said once they were in the hallway. Aaron only looked at her.

******

2:17am. 9 hours of agony. John had been pacing around the room for hours. It was no use trying to get him to sleep. Angelica was typing at the speed of light, periodically looking up to make sure John was okay. Peggy had gone home, knowing she’d have to be up at 4am to start baking. Eliza had driven Burr home after he talked to the cops, and returned with a duffel bag of clothes for John and Alex. Nobody asked how she managed to get them without a key to their place. Hercules said goodnight around midnight and promised to return the next day. Eliza and Laf slept propped up against each other.

“Excuse me?” Said a meek little man, no more than 5’4 and 120lbs. He was drowning in his grey scrubs. He looked weary.

Lafayette woke Eliza, who looked at the man with curious eyes. Angelica and John soon followed.

“Are you the wife of Mr. Hamilton?” He asked Eliza.

“No. I am.” John said.

“Oh, I’m very sorry. I’m Dr. Madison, I’m the neurology resident on call. If I could speak to you outside-“

“No.” John demanded. They stay.”

“Sir, it’s family only.”

“They are family. How’s Alex?”

“But sir, I, um-“

“Whatever you have to say, they can hear it too.”

“Well, uh, Alexander did very well. He’s still in the OR, but they’re just closing up. Our hepatic surgeon managed to stop the bleeding in his liver, but he did loose quiet a bit of blood, so we had to transfuse over 3 units. We’re watching closely for any signs of rejection, but it’s very rare that it will happen. He did lose a portion of his liver, so no alcohol for a while. He had a slight arrhythmia, but that’s also under control. Because musket balls like the one in your… partner, break and fragment, it took us a while to get it all out, and it’s important that we monitor for any signs of infection or heavy metal toxicity. We have him on high dose antibiotics and chelation as precautionary measures. Chelation therapy is something that-“

“Why neurology?” John interrupted. Angelica gave him a warning look. He tried to swallow his temper.

“I don’t understand the question, sir.”

“You said you were a neurology resident. So far you’ve mentioned his liver, his heart, and the bullet. But none of that is neurological, so what is?”

He swallowed hard. Clearly he didn’t like this part of the job. “The bullet lodged itself in his spine. We got it out, but it caused irreparable nerve damage.”

“Like, neuropathy? That’s fine. You can take stuff for that. That’s fine.”

“Laurens,” Laf started.

“No, sir. He has a complete spinal cord injury at the T9 level. That’s about two inches above the belly button. We won’t know until he wakes up how much sensation he has, but he’s not going to walk again. Dr. Jefferson, the attending on his case will go over all the details with you tomorrow, but for now, you should start renovating your house. I’m sorry. A nurse will take you back to see him as soon as he’s stable. You should have your friends go home.” With that, the scrawny guy left.

“You’re fucking terrible at your job!” John shouted down the hallway. He didn’t turn back around, just kept walking.

John fell to his knees. Eliza cried into her elbow. Angelica grabbed John, holding him close. The world seemed to stop spinning. John was ready to throw up.

“Angie he’s fucking crippled. What do I do? Tell me what to do!” John cried. She took a moment to choose her words.

“You grieve. Alex grieves. You grieve for the life you lost, and then you move on. And it’ll suck, and it’ll hurt like hell, but you’ll be okay. It is what it is.”

“What if he never gets better? What if he never walks again? What then, Angelica? Huh? You gonna be so wise then?”

“Why does he need to walk again? Do you really think he will?”

The whole room stopped crying, even John, and stared at Angelica, confused. Why was she saying this to him? What was she doing?

“Don’t talk like that, he will.”

“Do you understand what a complete spinal cord injury entails? He’s never going to be “the same.” And that’s okay, John. Walking is nothing. He’ll be happy. He’ll get healthy. And he’ll be in a wheelchair. Big deal. He’s still Alex.”

“What is wrong with you? Don’t say that kind of shit! He is going to be fine. He’ll be fine. He’ll walk. I don’t want him to be okay with this, like you so clearly are.”

“Fuck you.”

“Angelica!” Laf yelled at her. One look in his direction and he shut up.

“If that’s really how you feel, than fuck you. He is fine. He’s alive. He loves you and you love him. You think I’m okay with this? Of course not. My friend got shot. He almost died. I’m not okay with this at all. But to say you don’t want Alex to be okay with his body? To be okay with reality? To hate himself so much he tries to change something that he can’t possibly change? You think the worst thing in the world is to be disabled? Hm? How about you tell that to Peggy.” Angelica was never this emotional in front of anybody.

“Angie, that’s not what I meant and you know that. Peggy is different. I just… this isn’t the life he deserves.”

“Oh Philip, I don’t want her to grow up this way. Oh Philip, what if she never talks. Oh honey, we have to hide it from the world.” Angelica said in a mocking tone, doing an exaggerated British accent. Eliza’s head was in her hands. “18 surgeries. I watched my sister go through 18 surgeries before she was 12 years old because my parents needed her to be “normal.” That was the worst thing in the world. You gonna do that to Alex? Make him feel inferior until he’s “better?” You’re gonna do what our parents did?”

“He’s not inferior, neither is Peggy, I just…”

“I didn’t raise a pansy.” She said in the same mocking tone, this time doing her best southern accent.

“What the hell did you just say to me?”

“This isn’t the life I want for my little Jackie. Let’s send him to the priest. Let’s change him! Let’s fix him! Cure him! I don’t like him this way! It ain’t right! No son of mine is gonna be a sodomite!” She was getting louder and louder. Before anybody knew it, John’s hands were pushing her against the wall, his screams more passionate than hers.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking dare talk to me like that! It’s not the same! It’s not! It’s not!”

“Calmez-vous! Calmez-vous! Calm down, you guys, hey, hey, enough!” Lafayette said, struggling to break them up. He stood in the middle, all three out of breath. Angelica rubbing her shoulder from where John had been holding it.

“It’s late. We’re tired, but we must not lose sight of what’s important, which is Alex’s well-being, and I know we all care about him. He doesn’t need this. You want him to wake up alone because you two couldn’t keep it together? No. He needs you two right now. He needs you two to suck it up.” Maybe it was the accent, but Lafayette’s voice seemed to calm John a bit. “You guys can discuss this later, when tensions aren’t as high. Right now, how about I drive Angelica home? Eliza can stay with you until Alex wakes up. Oui?”

“I’m not leaving.” Angelica said.

“Angelica, go home. Get some sleep.” Eliza said, impressively gentle. She nodded in agreement and went to get her purse from the couch. On the way to the door, she stopped in front of John, face to face.

“It is the same,” she said in a low growl. “It’s not the life you wanted. Too bad. You grieve. You cry. You hold each other. And you keep going.”

“If you ever bring up my father again, I’ll kill you.”

“Fair enough.”

******

“A sterile prison” is the first thing John thought of when he walked into the hospital room. There was one green chair, facing a window which overlooked the parking lot. The linoleum floor was grey with age. There was a pink pitcher of water on the beside table and a fake orchid. Nothing else. John counted 12 IV bags and a morphine dispenser. The ventilator sat close by- just in case he needed to go back on it. The plastic tubes of supplemental oxygen made their own unique hissing. So many tubes and wires. Electrodes on Alex’s chest, projecting his bradycardic heart onto a beeping screen, and EEG wires around his hair line. A catheter lead to a bag of slightly brown urine at the foot of the bed. A IV line was in his left hand and another came out of his neck. The light blue linens made Alex look sickly pale in comparison. He looked small, his eyes even more exhausted than usual, his hair greasier. He didn’t even notice John when he walked in, still high as a kite on drugs.

John ambled slowly to the chair by Alex’s bed, listening to sound of his shoes on the tile. A sound he feared Alex would never create again. His hands were stained with ink and calloused. John grabbed his hand, careful of the IV.

“I’m here, love. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” John whispered.

Without opening his eyes, Alex responded, “H-hi.” It was almost to weak to hear.

“Hi.” John said with a sad smile. “Don’t try and talk, just rest.”

“It… hurts.” He said between gasping breaths.

“I know it does. You just had surgery.”

“My… throat… hurts. My neck… my ribs. My left hand. I’m guessing…” He winced. “Hand and neck are IV’s. Throat is…” A loud groan.

“Hurting from the ventilator. For once in your life, stop talking.” John finished for him.

“I’m on fire.”

“It’s just the drugs.”

“My legs… are on fire. Nerve pain. Not surgical.”

“Ssh, ssh. It’s okay.”

“Crying… stop crying. Get… blanket.” Alex tried to get out. John looked at the blanket resting at Alex’s hips.

“You’re cold?” He asked

“They didn’t give… me a… blanket.”

John swallowed his tears. Alex couldn’t feel the blanket on his legs. John pulled it up to his shoulders.

“Mhm, thank…”

“Go to sleep. I’m not going anywhere.” Alex went back to drifting off.

“Thanks for… staying. I know how much you hate doctors.”

“Ssh, nonsense.”

Alex smiled. “They’ll fix us right up, Momma.”

John buried his face in Alex’s legs. He couldn’t take this much longer.

The next morning, John awoke to a sharp rapping on the door. Alex did too, much to John’s dismay. He scrubbed his hands over his face and check his phone. 7:12am. 11 missed calls from Angelica. 23 unread texts, and a missed call from Burr. He put it away and looked at the man in the door frame.

He had a scruffy, unshaven face to rival Alex’s. His hair was too big for the surgical cap he had tied around his head. In one hand he had a manilla folder, in the other a worn out wooden cane with a shiny gold handle. Most notably, his lab coat was bright fuchsia.

“Wakey, wakey,” he said coming in, too loud for the atmosphere.

“I don’t believe in rounds, so I come in early, before the interns. Lucky you, you’ll get checked on twice.”

“And you are?” Alex said, annoyed and markedly more aware than the previous night.

“Dr. Jefferson. Best neurosurgeon in the great state of New York.” The man limped over to the foot of the bed and grabbed the chart.

“What’s with the coat?” Alex asked.

“Kids love it.” Jefferson said, reading the chart notes.

“You don’t strike me as the type to like kids.”

“And you didn’t seem so feisty lying open in my OR, and yet here we are.”

John snickered in disbelief, Alex laughed.

“Did you like, watch an episode of House MD and decide to emulate that all through your career?” Alex asked.

“Something like that. Now, let’s get down to it. You, my friend,” he said, pointing the cane at Alex, “are officially a T9 complete paraplegic. We should probably talk about that.” He sat down on the bed, totally uncaring about John’s obvious annoyance. “You must be the boyfriend, then?”

“Yeah, you gotta problem with that?” John got immediately defensive.

“Not unless you tell my husband he’s terrible at his job again, then no, no problem.” John just shook his head.

“I love this guy, John. Don’t you?”

“Not really.”

For a while, they talked medicine. It all went over John’s head. Alex interrupted every two seconds to ask a question. He had too much medical knowledge for being an english professor. He asked all the usual questions, “when will I get better?” “what does that mean?” but his reactions weren’t the devastated, distraught reactions of John. They weren’t really reactions at all. Alex nodded and said “okay” after everything the doctor said. John had never seen him so controlled in his emotions.

“Listen, I’m just the guy who patched you up. Anything medical goes to me. Anything about your life, ask your rehab doc.” Again, Alex just nodded. He didn’t seem to care. Was he just in denial?

“Brought you some pamphlets.” Dr. Jefferson opened the manilla folder and lay four pamphlets out on the bed, Mobility In The Home, Picking a Wheelchair, What You Need to Know About SCI, and one called Sex and Intimacy with a happy heterosexual couple on the cover. John wiped away a tear.

“If you need a good laugh, take a read. They’re totally bullshit, though. You’ll learn more watching an X-Men movie.”

John had no idea how long the two of talked for until Jefferson left and John took out his phone again. 2 hours. 2 hours of banter and not a single tear.

“So,” John said.

“So.” Alex replied. John just looked at him with sad eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine.”

“Alex, you’re not fine. You’re…”

“Never gonna walk again?”

“I’m sorry, my love.”

“Why?”

“What, what do you mean why? Because you’re never gonna walk again, that’s why?”

Alex didn’t respond for an uncharacteristic moment.

“Don’t give a shit if I ever walk again. I just… I don’t want to be in pain for the rest of my life, John. And I don’t want to be pitied.”

“It’s manageable, that’s what they said. There’s a ton of drugs on the market for this kind of nerve pain, and my love, not a single person is going to pity you. You’re too much of an asshole.”

Alex let out a weak, sad laugh, before meeting John’s wet eyes.

“Manageable means it’ll always be there. Means it needs managing. And what do you mean nobody will pity me? You’re pitying me.”

“No I’m not. I’m sad! You should be sad, too! You would be, if you didn’t represses every ounce of emotion you ever felt.”

“I am sad. We’re all sad. You’re looking at me like this is the sum total of my existence. You’re pitying!”

“Yeah, how would know pity if it slapped you in the face?”

“You forget that I used to beg for food. That I’ve been an orphan since I was 12. I know what fucking pity looks like.” Alex said, masking sadness behind anger. He was right. John knew it. Alex and Angelica were both right. Not that John was wrong per se, but they were right, and the guilt was setting in.

“You’re right.” Was all John could think to say. “You’re right. I’ve been horrible. Oh god, Alex, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m always right.”

“Bastard.”

“Dick.”

The conversation was far from over, they both knew that much, they both were fully aware that an idealogical difference like this doesn’t just go away, but it wasn’t the time. They both knew that, too.

“I called into work, but I should really tell the gang you’re awake and talking. They all want to see you.” John said, changing the topic.

“Please do, and hand me my phone, will ya?”

John obliged.

“We’re planning on taking turns, so somebody is always here with you. Obviously it’s hard with work and everything, but we’ll figure it out. I’ll be here every day after work and weekends, no doubt.”

“John, you heard the doc. A month here, two months inpatient in rehab, you don’t have to do that.”

“And miss out on spending time with you? Please.”

John stepped out of the room to call everybody back. Alex took the opportunity to send a text her knew John wouldn’t.

_Alex: I need to see you._

_Aaron: Alex I’m so sorry, it was an accident._

_Alex: Please come see me. Room 1804. John will be at work starting next week from 7am-6pm, if that makes it easier._

_Aaron: I’ll try. How do you feel?_

_Alex: Morphine and Vicodin do wonders for the soul, I must say. Not mention I’m paralyzed. Feeling nothing lol._

_Alex: Ok that was a bad joke._

_Alex: Aaron? Did I scare you away! Come back!_

_Aaron: See you soon. Take care of yourself, Hamilton._

Alexander put away his phone. John came back a few minutes later with Eliza. She brought a cake and roses. Hercules and Lafayette showed up a few hours later, also with a cake. Eliza’s beautiful homemade layer cake paled in comparisons to the store bought cake that read “roses are red / glad you pulled through / sorry that gun / went off on you.” Really, Alex was just amazed that they had found somebody willing to put that on a cake.

Over the next few weeks, he was never without a visitor. It was no secret John had started seeing a shrink, and it was working wonders for him. Angelica brought him notes from the classes of his she took over. Eliza and Peggy always came together with an extraordinary supply of baked goods. Lafayette had made a standing offer to paint Alex’s wheelchair, and Hercules sowed him pajama’s. The weeks crept by, each milestone celebrated. His first time sitting up, getting the central line out, getting the stitches out. With the exception of John, he was never alone with anybody. They all drove together, they all had dinner with him. Not that Alex, in all his boredom and extraverted glory minded, not really. He was excited for rehab. Excited to learn how to be a person again, and ready to go home and back to work.

Sometimes, in the rare moment he was alone, Dr. Jefferson would come in. They both relished a heated political debate. Hatred kept them both sane. Angelica understood, John didn’t.

******

_Alex: You up?_

_Peggy: Am now :)_

_Alex: Come over? John is at home tonight. We haven’t had any one-on-one time. You don’t talk enough when there are other people in the room. I miss you_

_Peggy: Well maybe you talk too much, ever think about that?_

_Alex: Eliza loves to remind me. But really, will you come?_

_Peggy: I’m already in my car :)_

She got there a little after midnight. An immediate sense of relief followed her into the room. Her long, curly hair was untied, hanging down to her waist. She smelled faintly like flour and wore a white cotton dress that had jam stains on the sleeves.

“ _Hi,_ ” she signed.

“ _Hi. It’s so good to see you. Just you_.”

_“I’m sure it is. Somebody with no platitudes to offer you. No advice on how you should be feeling.”_

_“I didn’t account for it,”_ Alex signed. _“I didn’t think everybody would have an opinion on my emotions and my body, what meds I should be taking and what doctors I should listen too. It’s exhausting to have to listen to everybody’s advice. I mean, I know they’re trying to be helpful, but god, they didn’t used to do this. Especially your sisters. No offense. But J-E-E-Z, could they possibly have more different opinions? E-L-I-Z-A is all you’ll walk again, be positive! And A-N-G-E-L-I-C-A is all-“_

“ _Embrace it or I’ll kill you.”_ Peggy signed, smiling knowingly. She sat down on top of the dresser, across from the bed. _“Yeah,_ _welcome to my world. Say goodbye to anonymity. Your body is now public property. Everybody is gonna have an opinion on A-L-E-X, The Cripple. It sucks, majorly. And if you talk to them about, well it’s useless. Everybody, strangers, family, friends, they’re going want you to be the Perfect Burden.”_

“You get it more than anybody. This is why I needed to see you.”

_“Come on, don’t make me read lips, not you of all people.”_

_“Sorry.”_

Peggy gave him a thumbs up.

 _“I’m sure you’re sick of this question, but how are you feeling?”_ She asked.

_“Hurts. The muscles spasms are the worst. Peeing is surprisingly difficult. I’m fine, though. Going a little crazy. Want to get back to work. Craving normalcy.”_

“ _Who would you be if you didn’t want to work?”_

_“Ha. How are you?”_

_“I’m fine. Ready to kill A-N-G-E-L-I-C-A. You know what she’s done to your apartment?”_

A look a sheer panic crossed Alex’s face.

_“I’m fucking with you. Relax. A few ramps, bathroom modifications. Calm down. But I really am ready to kill her.”_

_“Who isn’t?_ ”

 _“Hey, that’s my sister you’re talking about!”_ Peggy joked. Alex laughed

_“It’s still so new. You’ll get some normalcy back in a few months, when you go home and get back to it.”_

_“Will I?”_

_“Normal is dynamic. It’ll be different, but you’ll get used to it. We all will.”_

_“Look who’s whipping out the platitudes now.”_ They paused, Alex working too hard to adjust himself in bed. Peggy didn’t offer to help. Alex was endlessly grateful.

_“I need a favor.”_

_“I can try, but nobody really listen’s to me.”_

There was way too much truth in what Peggy had just said. It lingered heavy for a moment before Alex cracked his knuckles and started signing again.

_“I need you to get A-A-R-O-N here.”_

_“I can try. He’s devastated. A-N-G-E-L-I-C-A says he’s not himself. Asks about you everyday, though, if it counts for anything.”_

_“I know he’s devastated. That’s why I need to see him. He deserves some peace, P. Can you just try?”_

_“Of course, A-L-E-X.”_

The rest of their conversation was the usual small talk and banter. Peggy left as the sun was coming up. For the first time in 3 weeks, Alex was starting to feel like himself again.


	2. Atrophy (Surviving Life)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander struggles to get his life back, and despite John's best efforts, he's not much help. Jefferson reveals his human side and Peggy shares some big news.
> 
> Burr visits Alex, and they both share stories of their pasts, but tragedy lurks around the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, so this is Chapter 2! It's a little more angsty and there's a lot of dialogue. Also, there's a ton of historical easter eggs scattered throughout, so let me know what you think of those.
> 
> Comments make my day, so consider leaving me one?

The last 10 days in the hospital seemed to go by impossibly slow. Alex craved stimulation. He missed work, and he missed John. Not that John wasn’t there everyday, whispering poems in his ear and constantly taking notes on how to care for him, but it wasn’t the same. John wasn’t the same John that he used to be. He was frantic and angry, and treated Alex like a child. Alex wasn’t the same around John, either. He was quiet.

The pain of trying to function began taking it’s toll, and so did the side effects of the drugs meant to help. He didn’t know how he was going to do it. While his friends seemed daunted by the thought of him not walking, the thought of being in pain for the rest of his life is what haunted Alex. The doctors told him he’d learn to live with it- that they’d get the spasms under control, and they’d find something to soothe the nerve pain. They promised that rehab would fix all his problems once he went, that he’d adjust and adapt. Alex doubted it. It didn’t feel human. He knew that all he’d done for the past month was lay practically unmoving in bed, supported by special pillows that cradled every joint. He worried about how bad it would hurt once he started wheeling around, moving. Living his life. The hospital room seemed to eat him up. The longer Alex spent in it, the more of his identity was erased. He wondered how much more of his identity would be lost in the coming years, how much Hamilton would fade into obscurity, erased by physical therapists and wheelchair dealers.

 

“Rise and shine, Hammy.” Thomas, formerly known to Alex as Dr. Jefferson, announced as he burst into the room one morning. “I have good news for you.”

Alex turned his head over took look at him, the closest thing to rolling over he could manage. It was too early in the morning for this. John was at work. He was alone, minus the company of painkillers. The last thing Alex wanted to do was see Thomas.

“What’s your news? It’s a month ago and I wasn’t shot?” Alex spit out, sleep still sitting heavy on each word. “Sorry, didn’t mean to sound so woe-is-me.”

“Apology accepted. You’re getting out of here today.” Dr. Jefferson said, leaning his full weight onto the door frame. His bad leg was crossed in front of the good one and his cane was being twirled in his hand. 

“Ambulance is coming to get you in a few hours, take you to the rehab hospital. Maybe they can finally teach you how to wash your hair.” His neon purple lab coat covered a grey suit vest and navy blue slacks. Alex always thought he looked like a Vogue Willy Wonka, John said he look like a drug dealer, and Hercules said he loved his style.

“That’s today?”

“Yeah. Been a month. You’re off to go learn how to get dressed and function. I’ll miss you on my rounds.”

“I won’t miss you.” Alex said. Thomas just clicked his tongue and smiled before starting limp away. It wasn’t much of a goodbye. 

“Hang on, not so fast,” Hamilton said.

“Yes sir, at your service, sir.” Jefferson said sarcastically.

“I’m not ready.”

“Well, your health insurance provider certainly thinks you are.”

“You’re the doctor, tell them I can’t even support my own weight sitting up! Tell them I’m not ready.”

“You are ready, Alexander. Risk of infection is gone, your spine has fused nicely, there will always be a risk of your spinal cord stroking out, but you’re already paralyzed, so its not a huge-“

Alex cut him off. “I’m not fucking ready.”

“I’m not going to lie to Blue Cross so you can spend a few more days rotting away in this bed. Sorry.” 

“Thomas, please. I can’t do anything for myself yet. I can’t go.”

“That’s the point of rehab, idiot. To learn how to do things for yourself. You’re healthy, Alex. The longer you stay here, bedridden and wallowing in self pity, the more your core muscles and arms atrophy, and I’m gonna let you in a little medical secret,” Jefferson said, leaning in to say the rest of his piece. “You’re gonna be relying on your arms and core.” He finished in a loud, fake whisper.“You want to know what I think?”

“No, I don’t, but you’re going to tell me anyway, aren’t you?” Alex said, laying his head back down and staring at the ceiling. He no longer had the energy to hold his head up.

“I think you don’t want to get out of here because you don’t want to face your life. And rehab, well rehab is all about facing life, re-learning how to live it. Long as you’re here, in my hospital, you’re just another patient, the responsibility of the nurses. Out there you’re actually disabled, and I don’t think you want to deal with that… I think you’re scared to be a burden.”

“Yeah, right, cause I’m _oh-so_ able bodied here. And totally not a burden, having to be rolled over ever two hours and peeing through a tube.” Alex muttered.

“Not saying you’re not disabled here. I’m saying here you don’t have to admit you’re different. Out there, you’ll be reminded of it everyday.”

“Stop projecting your weak ass armchair psychology onto me. Just because you feel that way doesn’t mean I do. I don’t want to leave because I don’t think I’m healthy enough to leave. That’s it.” Alex reprimanded.

“You’re lying to yourself, but okay, sure.”

“God I fucking hate you.” 

“Most of my patients do.” Jefferson said, peeling himself off the door to adjust something with Alex’s IV line. Neither man said anything to the other for what felt like an eternity. Finally, when he couldn’t take it anymore, Alex broke the silence.

“You never told me what happened to your leg.” Alex said.

“You never asked.” Jefferson said. 

Alex noticed him run his hand down his thigh, subtly massaging it. Alex took it for insecurity, with maybe a hint of nostalgia.

“Well?” Alex prompted, suddenly finding the strength to try and sit up straighter. He groaned with regret as soon as he pushed his arms down.

“Farm accident.” Thomas said dryly, disconnecting a bag of saline.

“No way. A pompous doctor doused in prestige? On a farm? I may be high but I’m not a moron.”

“We all have our pasts.” He held up the bag of clear liquid. “By the way, you’re done being high. For now on, you get reasonable doses of muscle relaxers for the spasms and some Tramadol for the nerve pain. It’s a non-narcotic. Works wonders. Your morphine is coming with me.” He winked. Alex was unamused.

“Hold up, is that even legal? To just take my meds away?”

“I’m the prescribing doctor, why wouldn’t it be?”

With that, Alex hit the IV pole. Not hard enough to knock it over, not hard at all. He sat, watching it wobble, before he started to laugh.

“Doctor Thomas Jefferson, worked on a farm. Life really is ironic.”

“Didn’t say I worked there. I owned the whole estate.” 

His pager was going off. Alex briefly considered making a joke about it being the 90s, but he was too curious about Thomas’ leg to risk it.

“Seriously, I need details. So far all I know is you owned an estate, and somewhere between being the real life Downton Abbey and the real life Dr. House, you hurt your leg. Indulge me.”

He hesitated. He had so many stories lined up. He was so unused to the truth. It was so rare that anybody genuinely cared about him, about his past, in the eager, earnest way Alex seemed to care. 

“I kicked a horse, and it kicked back.”

“What?” Alex said through laughter. Thomas wasn’t laughing at all.

“My wife used to ride. I got her the horse as an anniversary gift.”

“Your wife? I thought you were married to…”

“Starts with a “B,” ends with an “-exsual.” Don’t interrupt my story.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyway, when she died, I went to the stables to, I don’t know, grieve? That damn horse was looking at my like I killed her. So I kicked it. And it kicked back, shattered my femur. Sold the estate, got a studio apartment in Queens, went to med school and married James.”

He fell silent. Alex didn’t know what to say. Suddenly, Thomas’ facade was back on. He gave Alex a cheeky smile.

“Well that’s my sob story. Yours is just beginning.” He checked his watch, and then his pager. “1991 is calling. I gotta run.”

“You’re the strangest doctor I ever met, and under different circumstances I would have punched you, but Thomas? Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Save the sap. It’s my job. Remember what Oscar Wilde once said: “never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not.”

“That’s from Game of Thrones.”

“Same damn thing.”

 

******

 

The rehab hospital was nice, but still a hospital. Alex’s room was bigger and decorated like a motel, minus the hospital bed and adaptive equipment. He got to were his own clothes, a much needed relief after a month in a hospital gown (despite Hercules best efforts to dress him up, regulations are regulations.) The routine was grueling. 6 hours a day- 2 of occupational therapy, 4 of physical therapy, with the occasional social worker stepping in for a chat. Things seemed to be moving along. After being there a month, John reported that the apartment was done, a beautiful, completely accessible loft in Soho. Freshly renovated for all of Alex’s wheelchair needs. Nobody said anything, especially not Alex, in all his pride, but it was no secret that the Schuyler’s had footed the bill. They were too respectful, and John too ashamed, to ever bring it up. When Alex’s custom wheelchair arrived, there was a suspicious french flag sticker on the back. 

That damn wheelchair. To John, it was a curse. He could barely look at it. In fact, he had to step out of the room when Alex was measured for it- the questions of “what color do you want?” “one or two inch taper at the footplate?” “Hard back or soft back?” “Pneumatic tires or rubber inserts?” All seemed to prove too much for John. Not, however, for Alex. That chair was his freedom. 15 pounds of navy blue, perfectly welded, rolling freedom. He didn’t have the strength to push of the massive 40 pound hospital grade chairs, so when he got his own, transferred into it for the first time, saw the sideboards hugging his hips and the frame contrasting his jeans, he felt like he did when he got his first bicycle. Free, for the first time in forever. Of course, it wasn’t ideal. He wanted a car, not a bike, when he turned 16. He’d trade the chair for a nice pair of running shoes, but still. He was happy. Weirdly happy, for something that ran insurance $7,000 and himself another $100. Something about “light-up caster wheels not being medically necessary.”

The day after he got it, the whole group was there for dinner. Alex sat in bed, trying to pretend that his legs weren’t visibly spasming. John sat across the room, sulking to Eliza, while Lafayette rambled on about the elaborate concealment of Theodore Roosevelt’s polio, and Alex angrily tried to explain that he had the wrong Roosevelt, and that being French was no excuse, Laf was a professor and should know these things. However, it was Peggy who asked the question

“ _So, what are you going to name it?”_ She signed. Hercules was the first to notice her signing in the activity of the room.

“Hey guys, Peg said something about a name. I didn’t get it all.” 

Herc didn’t mean it, but Alex knew how much Peggy hated it when somebody stopped the entire conversation to talk to her. Alex mouthed “sorry” in a knowing tone to her, but she didn’t notice.

“ _Say it again.”_ Eliza signed. Everybody was looking at Peggy, Angelica ready to interpret. 

“ _A-L-E-X needs to name his chair. Like you know how people name cars? What’re you gonna name her, Ham?”_ Peggy said, signing “ham,” as in the food, instead of fingerspelling his name again.

“Don’t know. What should I name her?” Alex responded.

“Marie.” Laf said excitedly. “She sat on a throne, but, eh, comment dit-on… not for very long.” 

John nodded in agreement, knowing what Lafayette was getting at. Angelica and Alex rolled their eyes. Peggy smiled sweetly, perfectly hiding how much it hurt that Laf didn’t even try and communicate with her.

“No, let him keep his head!” Eliza said, while also signing it. “Name it Lizzie. After you’re favorite baker.”

“ _Hey!”_ Peggy said back to her. “ _What about M-A-R-I-A?”_

“Yeah,” said Alex. “ _I like M-A-R-I-A. Nice ring too it.”_

_“_ He said he likes the name Maria,” Angelica whispered to a bewildered Hercules.

“No, you can’t name it Maria! You wouldn’t know this, but you had a shitty nurse named Maria.” John said.

“I know, John. That’s why I’m naming it after her, the woman who saved my life. You know she invited us to Pride with her as soon as I woke up? I think she said her girlfriend was a blind chef or something, I can’t really remember.”

“Her girlfriend is deaf, and owns a bakery, actually.” 

Everybody eyes shot too Peggy. It was the first time John, Laf, and Herc, had ever heard her speak. Eliza took longer to put two and two together, but she seemed pleasantly surprised that her sister was verbalizing, her biggest insecurity. Alex shot her a knowing, giddy look. Angelica looked amused.

“You can speak?” “You’re gay?” “You’re fucking a nurse?” Laf, John, and Herc all said at the same exact time. Peggy smiled widely.

“You’re an idiot, Laf. After all those years of deaf school? Give me a little credit. I know I sound horrible, but come on.” Peggy said. Between her accent and Laf’s, she didn’t expect him get a word of it. That’s precisely why she verbalized it to him.

“ _And J-O-H-N, I’ve been a lesbian since day one. H-E-R-C, why do you think she took such good care of us all? Because we’ve been dating for three years.”_

“ _Peggy, why didn’t you tell us?”_ Eliza asked, not angry, to nobody’s surprise.

“ _You never asked. Ham knew, A-N-G-I-E had her suspicions. The rest of you never talked to me about it.”_

“Well, I, for once, want to congratulate my sister of coming out!” Eliza said and signed. 

_“_ Me too! We love you, Peg. I’m really sorry I insulted your girlfriend.” John half said, half signed, embarrassed.

“ _Well I wanted to bring it up now, seeing as I proposed to her.”_

“She was gonna tell you guys 2 months ago,” Alex interrupted.

“ _Yeah, but then somebody had to get himself paralyzed, and it really killed the romantic mood.”_ Peggy finished.

They stayed until 10pm, celebrating Peggy’s news and Alex’s recovery. Eliza and Lafayette seemed the most surprised, both for totally different reasons. Eventually, Alex gave Angelica a look. Without a fuss, she kissed him on the cheek and said goodbye, taking everybody but John with her. They all knew Alex was in pain, but they knew he would never talk about it, never admit it. Judging by the sharp exhale and groan he let out when they all left, John knew it was bad.

He pulled the wheelchair next to Alex’s bed closer and sat down in it. All the therapy, while good for recovery, was very, very, bad for the muscle spasms. And the muscle spasms were very bad for the nerve pain. The combination of rolling around the whole hospital in his new chair and celebrating Peggy’s engagement was doing Alex no favors. John held his hand. Alex squeezed it back painfully hard.

“God fucking dammit it hurts.” Alex got out in one choked up breath. He let out a strangled scream and squeezed John’s hand harder.

“I know it does, I know. It’ll pass.” John wiped a single tear from Alex’s strained face. “You don’t have to be brave for me. You can cry, you can scream.”

“I can’t,” Alex said. “Crying hurts worse.”

“Okay, then no crying.” John was trying so hard to comfort him. It pained John in the deepest way to see his boyfriend like this. He felt useless, like there was nothing he could do to ease Alex’s pain.

“I can get the doctor. I can call Jefferson, see if he knows what to do.”

“Don’t. I’m maxed out on everything. It’s just a flare up.”

“Ok. Can I get you anything? Ice? Water?”

“No, thanks.”

John squished his eyes shut, blocking his own sobs.

“John?” Alex said after a moment.

“Yeah?”

“Go home, love.”

“Absolutely not. There is no way I’m leaving you, not like this.”

“Please. I’m asking.”

“Alex, no.”

“You haven’t been home in days. I’m surrounded by medical professionals. It’s just pain. Go home. Philip needs to be fed. Get some rest.”

“You’re sending me home to feed the pet turtle? You’re more important than the product of a PetSmart shopping spree!”

“No, I’m sending you home because I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Alex, don’t be ridiculous! You can let yourself be vulnerable with me. I love you, I’m here for you, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Dammit John, it hurts to talk. Just go!” Alex said as loud and as powerful as possible, which wasn’t were loud at all. His anger stung John, who was struggling not to cry.

“Alex-“ John said gently

“You’ve been through hell and back. So have I. There’s no reason to make it harder for the both of us. John, I’m not asking. Go home. I can’t take care of you, let alone myself.”

“You’re a pain in the ass. You have to call me if _anything_ changes, okay.” John said, determined not to let Alex know he was hurt.

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, promise. Now go.” 

John gave Alex a peck on the cheek. Alex’s skin was cold and sweaty, but the furrow in his brow loosened with the touch of John’s lips. He left without another word.

 

******

 

“Excuse me?” a timid man asked the tired nurse at the check-in desk. He held a single flower in his hand, no vase, and worn a torn up sweatshirt over a button up and tie.

“Visiting hours are over, come back tomorrow.” A woman said, unamused.

“I’m… I’m family.”

“How may I help you, then?” The understaffed nurse asked, annoyance seeping out of ever word, not looking up from her phone.

“Yes, um, I’m here to see Alexander Hamilton. I’ve never been, do I need to sign in, or…”

“Yeah, hang on.” She said, continuing whatever game she was playing. “Wait, hold up, you said you’re here to see Hamilton?”

“Yes, that’s correct.” The man replied.

“Oh honey, good luck. We had about 7 people leave his room a few hours ago, and he’s been buzzing us every 10 mins asking for pain meds ever since. He’s in no shape for company.” She finally looked up. “Lucky for you, he left special instructions to,” she started reading something on the computer “ _let_ _the bald guy through, no matter the time. It’ll probably be the middle of the night. Don’t turn him away”_ He’s a piece of work, I’ll tell ya.” She said.

“Okay, thanks. What room?”

The nurse put her feet up on the desk, leaning back in her chair. “Room 175-7. Take that hallway, then make a left, and it’s the fourth door on the right.”

 

He made his way down the dimly lit hallway. The main lights were off, seeing as it was past midnight. The only light came from a few lamps mounted to walls. The faint sound of TV’s was discernible behind some of the doors. Nobody was in the hall.

 

“Alexander?” He said softly, peaking his head in, just in case Alex was sleeping.

“It’s about time.” An out of breath voice said from the bed.

“Alex,” Burr breathed out, relieved.

“9 bloody weeks. I’ve been waiting 9 weeks for you.” Alex said, struggling to turn on the bedside lamp. His grimace turned to a genuine smile. “I’m so glad to see you.” He sighed.

“Oh Alex, you look terrible.” Aaron responded.

“Bad night, I won’t lie.”

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be here.” 

“No, Aaron. Please don’t go. Sit, stay.” Alex gestured vaguely to the wooden chair by his bed. Aaron stood a minute, canvasing the room, surveying the damage he’d done, before he slowly, cautiously, took the seat.

“Last time I saw you, you were covered in my blood, asking me questions about the Importance of Being Earnest in an attempt to keep me conscious.” Alex gave a weak laugh. “Thank you for coming so late.”

“I needed to see you. Angelica told me you sent John home.”

“I couldn’t deal with his pity and his fear. Not today.”

Burr looked down.

“Sorry, that’s not on you. How are you, Aaron?”

“No, it’s alright. I’m fine, Alexander. I’m guilty.”

“Don’t be. That’s why I wanted to see you. Aaron Burr, you are good man, and it wasn’t your fault. You don’t deserve this hanging over your head.”

“I do, Alex. I shot you. I crippled you. This shouldn’t be your life.”

“And it shouldn’t be your legacy. None of it’s fair, but none of it’s your fault. I asked to see the gun, I asked you to load it. I don’t blame you.”

They both sat, absorbing the other one’s company, relishing the quiet. The streetlight coming through the window made the shadows under Aaron’s eye so exaggerated they matched Alex’s.

“You look terrible, Alex.” Burr finally said, pretending not to be concerned. He grabbed the washcloth sitting on the bedside table and dunked it in the plastic pitcher of water. Before Alex could even respond, Aaron placed the damp towel on Alex’s forehead.

“A little cliche, no?” Alex sniffed, half-amusedly.

“You’re drenched in a cold sweat and shaking. Cliche’s be damned.” Aaron said, as if he was trying to wash away the pain with the wet cloth. After a few minutes he pulled away.

“Brought you something.” He extended the flower like a peace offering. Alex smiled.

“Forget-Me-Nots. How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess.”

“You never guess.”

That earned Alex a wry smile. 

“You seem sad.”

“Well my friend is laying paralyzed in a hospital bed because of me.”

“You’re friend? We’re friends? I like the sound of that.”

“Colleague.” Burr corrected.

“Friend,” Hamilton said. He saw Burr smile.

“I, uh, brought you something else.” Burr said, uncomfortable.

“A single rose, to declare your undying love?” Alex joked

“Methadone, actually.” Aaron reached into his pocket and pulled out a little orange bottle.“It’s a type of drug that-“

“Yeah, I know what it is. They give it to ex-herion addicts and cancer patients. It’s the strongest pain killer out there.” Alex interrupted, somewhere between confusion and amusement.

“I owe you.” Burr said gently. When Peggy asked me to come, I thought you could use-“

“So Peggy did get through to you.”

“She’s persuasive. Not to mention, I really did want to see you. I’ve been meaning to come, it’s just… I was a coward.”

“No, no, you’re not a coward. Although I’m starting to wonder if you’re secretly a drug dealer.” Alex said, looking at the pill bottle questioningly. “They hardly ever prescribe Methadone, you enabler. I’m trying to get off the painkillers.”

“Looking at you, I’d say I made the right call.” Burr said. Alex grabbed the bottle to read the label.

“Well, thanks?” He said, absent minded and reading.

“Just don’t take them all I once. Only when it’s really bad. I can’t get more.”

“Makes sense, seeing as this isn’t prescribed to you.”

Burr twitched.

“Aaron Burr, Part time saint, stealing peoples meds. I like it.” Hamilton said.

“I didn’t steal them.” Burr said quietly, pouring Alex a glass of water and handing it to him. Alex took a pill.

“Can I ask you something? How’d you know?”

“Know what?”

“That I was in pain. Who told you?” Alex didn’t sound accusatory, just curious. “Most people assume I can’t feel anything at all.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo.” Is all Burr offered.

“You shoot all of your friends?”

Something cold and dark flashed across Burr’s face, the winkles in his skin barricading their history. For just a moment, he looked lost.

“I know spinal cord injuries.” Something inside of him was aching. 

“Aaron, you can tell me anything…”

“Quid Pro Quo? I answer your question, and I get to ask you one?”

“Alright, Quid Pro Quo.” Alex agreed.

“The name on the bottle…” Aaron started

“Ester Edwards. Prescribing doctor M.W. Skelton, with a pharmacy zip code from Virginia. This is gonna be good.” Alex immediately regretted his tone, but Burr didn’t seem to notice. He was looking down at Alex’s unmoving legs, pondering.

“You asked how I knew you were in pain. You asked me who’s Methadone it was. Ester was my mother.”

“I don’t understand? Your mom did heroin?”

“My mom was a quadriplegic. C1 complete.”

“Oh my god, Aaron I had no idea.”

“Of course not, I’ve never told anybody.”

“I’m so sorry. C1, that’s…”

“Neck down. Ventilator dependent.” His eye met Alex’s. “I know this stuff, and there’s a reason I could bare to step foot in another ICU. I know pain.”

“How’s your mother now?” Is all Alex whispered.

“Dead, since I was 17.” He said monotone. 

Why was he telling Alex all this? He never told anybody this much about himself, let alone somebody he hated. His plan was to just bring the meds and go, but he couldn’t stop. It was too cathartic, and for all their differences, he trusted Alex.

“I’m so sorry. She was a lucky woman to have you as a son. So was your father.”

Aaron gave a pathetic laugh. “She was a good woman. Outspoken, passionate. You remind me of her.”

“And your father?” Alex asked.

“Died in prison when I was 13.”

“Aaron, I don’t know what to say, I-“

“I’m sorry, Alexander. I shouldn’t be telling you this. It’s not fair.”

“Aaron, of course you should.” Alex looked up. “What’d he do?”

“Stabbed his wife in the base of the skull. Got 20 years for attempted murder. Killed himself after 2.” Aaron hated himself for letting his defenses down. He hated it so much, but he couldn’t stop. 

“Turns out steak knives to the brain stem will earn a person some Methadone. I guess so do musket balls to the gut…” He trailed off.

“Aaron, I’m so, so, sorry. That must’ve been devastating.”

“It feels good to be honest. I took care of her for 6 years. She died of pneumonia.” Something took him over. “Not to be heavy and dark. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“Quid pro quo?” Aaron asked, far too abruptly. 

“Uh, yeah. Of course.” Alex said dumbfounded.

“Who is Rachel, and why did you and her get treated for Yellow Fever by Doctor’s Without Borders 20 years ago?” Aaron dried his eyes.

“How the hell do you about that?” Alex gritted his teeth,

“I wasn’t going to bring you drugs without checking your medical records first.”

“But how did you access- no, never mind. Rachel was my mom.”

“Was?” Aaron asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yellow Fever’s a bitch.” Alex responded.

“You weren’t vaccinated?”

“Are you kidding? I didn’t own a pair of shoes until I was 13. I remember it like it was yesterday, too. Laying by her side, delirious with fever in a medical tent, while nice white American’s saved my life. When she died… well, there was nobody. A few months later a hurricane destroyed the already lacking infrastructure, and there really was nothing left.”

“Alex, I had no idea. I didn’t mean to bring something like this up, I just… well you of all people understand. What’d you do when she…”

“My dad is a ghost. Never knew him. I hoped a plane New York with nothing but the clothes on my back. You’d be amazed how easy it was, too, pre-9/11 and all. When I got here I begged on the streets until I was placed in foster care a year later. I was adopted by the Washington’s. He worked in city hall, strict but kind. She didn’t work. She was deaf, hence my fluency in sign language. I’ve never told anybody that. I guess John and Peggy know bits and pieces but,”

“But there’s too much pity that comes with being an orphan?” Aaron offered.

Alex smiled. “Yeah, and in being a cripple.”

“Hm, that too.” Aaron said. “They tried to place me in the system more than once. I’m glad I avoided it.” 

“It’s awful. I owe the Washington’s my life, but the system as a whole is corrupt and retched.”

“I understand.” Burr said.

Neither man dare admit it, but in the lull after the first wave of conversation, peace married the tension. They looked at each other, silent tears gracing their cheeks. For the first time in years, they felt like they weren’t the only ones. The unique oceans of sadness living trapped inside them both were calmer. A smile slowly grew on Alex’s chapped lips.

Burr was going to tell Alex another, happier story about his mom. He was going to put the Forget-Me-Not in some water, but he didn’t have the chance. Alex’s eyes rolled back in his head. A frantic beeping filled the room as chaos poured into the room and pushed him away. Alex wasn’t breathing.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hospital and rehab scenes are based loosely on my own, but take my medical knowledge with a serious grain of salt.
> 
> Feedback is adored!

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this was taken from one of my favorite documentaries of the same name.
> 
> Chapter 2 is on it's way!


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